Morning hadn't yet broken when Eamond pinned Jake's crude map to the orphanage's splintered table. The candle guttered, casting long shadows over fourteen hungry faces leaning in. Pip's grimy fingers left streaks on the parchment as she traced the lines, her nose scrunched in concentration. The other orphans—some barely old enough to walk without stumbling—clustered around, their ragged clothes hanging off bony frames. Garret, the cat-eared demihuman, flicked his tail impatiently, his claws tapping against the wood.
"Here's the plan," Eamond said, tapping the west tower on the map. The ink smudged under his fingertip—cheap quality, like everything in this damned orphanage. "Two guards at dawn. Hungover. Likely still drunk."
Lysandra snorted, a spark dancing between her calloused fingers. "And when they skewer us?"
"Then we sell Jake back to the Fang," Eamond said without looking up. He heard the boy's sharp intake of breath, the way his threadbare sleeve rustled as he clenched his fists. A beat. Then Eamond smirked. "Kidding. Probably."
Jake's shoulders loosened. That fragile trust—so easily given, so easily broken.
Jake's Loyalty +5% (Current: 75%)
Alcasa's streets were still slick from last night's rain, the air thick with the reek of fish guts and cheap ale. Eamond crouched behind a rain barrel, the wood rotting under his palms. The west tower loomed ahead, its crumbling stonework like a rotten tooth against the predawn gloom.
One guard slumped against the door, his helmet askew as he vomited into a puddle. The other snored upright, a half-empty bottle dangling from limp fingers.
"Distraction protocol," Eamond whispered, tossing Lysandra a vial of swill he'd lifted from a dead-drunk merchant.
She uncorked it, the stench of fermented despair wafting toward the guards. The vomiting one gagged anew.
"Oi—who's drinking gutter piss this early?!"
Lysandra lobbed the vial into an alley. The guards lurched after it, tripping over their own boots.
Stealth (Temporary Buff: [Exploiting Stupidity]).
Inside, the tower reeked of sweat, blood, and the acrid tang of fear. Jake led them to a study cluttered with stolen finery—a gilded inkpot here, a velvet cloak tossed over a chair.
Eamond's fingers itched. So much profit left behind… But the ledger came first.
Jake pointed to the fireplace. "Loose stone. Dad bragged about it when he was deep in his cups."
Eamond pried it open with his dagger. Inside, a lockbox crusted with soot.
"Keys are under the desk," Jake whispered, already crawling toward it. His hands shook, but his movements were precise—a child trained by survival.
The lock clicked like a bone snapping. Inside, the ledger —its pages thick with grime and secrets.
Then—
Boots on stone. A voice slurred with drink: "…boss'll flay us alive if those numbers ain't fixed…"
Eamond shoved Jake behind the desk just as the door creaked open. A hulking enforcer staggered in, his knuckles dragging the ground like a gorilla's.
The man blinked at the open fireplace. "The fuck—?"
Eamond moved. He slammed the ledger into the brute's nose with a wet crunch, then yanked Jake toward the door. Blood splattered the stolen velvet cloak.
Jake's Loyalty +10% (Current: 85%)
Combat Log: Improvised Weapon (Ledger) – Critical Hit!
Enforcer Status: Nasal Fracture + Humiliation.
When they were outside, they didn't find any guards around the tower and were able to make their escape easier.
Shouts erupted behind them. Lysandra materialized in the courtyard, her hair lit like a torch. "Took you long enough!"
"Where are the guards?" Eamond panted.
"Sleeping." She jerked her chin toward a heap of groaning bodies. Garret perched atop one, proudly waving a dented skillet.
Eamond blinked. "You weaponized the orphans?"
"You said 'exploit all assets.'" Lysandra grinned, all teeth.
They vanished into the sewers, the stench masking their trail. Pip would complain about the smell later, but for now—
Back at St. Marla's, Jake collapsed onto a moth-eaten pallet, his laughter edged with hysteria.
Back at St. Marla's, the orphans erupted into chaos—the good kind. The kitchen hummed with laughter as they devoured their spoils: toasted bread slathered with honey, peach preserves bubbling over the hearth, and a stolen wheel of cheese that smelled faintly of feet.
Lysandra leaned against the wall, arms crossed, but even she couldn't hide the smirk tugging at her lips as Pip attempted to wear a jar as a hat, sticky syrup dripping down her forehead.
"Disgusting," Eamond muttered, watching the scene from the doorway. "They're eating like animals."
"Well, society does regard them as animals," Lysandra said. "You just taught them to be useful ones."
Karma Adjustment: +1 (Involuntary Kindness Detected)
Eamond ignored it.
Syd, an orphaned elf, emboldened by full stomachs and the thrill of survival, climbed onto the wobbly table. "To Goldie!" he declared, raising a chipped cup.
"To Goldie!" the orphans chorused, banging their spoons against the table.
Eamond's eye twitched. "Stop calling me that, it's Eamond."
"Too late," Lysandra said, grinning. "It's stuck. Like the jam in Garrett's fur."
Garret, mid-lick, paused. "...Wait, what?"
Eamond pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is why I don't do sentiment."
But then Pip barreled into his legs, her tiny hands clutching his trousers. "Goldie! Sit! Eat!"
He looked down at her—jam-smeared, gap-toothed, and utterly shameless—and felt something dangerously close to a heartbeat in his chest.
Weakness.
Eamond found himself cornered at the table, a crust of bread shoved into his hand by no less than three determined toddlers.
"Eat!" Pip demanded, climbing into his lap like a sticky, miniature tyrant.
"I don't—"
"EAT!" the orphans roared.
With a sigh, he took a bite. The bread was stale, the preserves cloyingly sweet, and yet—
Karma Adjustment: +2 (Direct Nurturing Behavior)
Alert: Empathy surge detected. Countermeasures failing.
Lysandra smirked. "You're blushing."
"I'm contemplating arson," Eamond hissed.
But he didn't push Pip away.
Later, when the orphans had collapsed into a pile of sleepy, sugar-drunk contentment, Eamond stood over them, ledger in hand.
Pathetic, he told himself. They'll slow you down.
Then Pip murmured in her sleep, curling around his abandoned jacket like a makeshift blanket.
Karma Adjustment: +1 (Involuntary Attachment)
Final Warning: Profit margins decreasing. Suggest immediate detachment.
Eamond hesitated. Then—gently, so gently no one would ever know—he draped a second blanket over the pile.
"Don't ruin my reputation," he muttered, turning away before the System could tally another point against him.
But Lysandra saw. And for once, she said nothing.
That night, Eamond, Lysandra, and Jake all gather in Eamond's rooms. To discuss their loot.
Eamond flipped through the ledger, his pulse spiking at one entry:
"19 Krum 1778 – Treasure transport. Guard detail: 4 men (see bribe receipts)."
Lysandra groaned. "You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The one that ends with me setting things on fire."
"Of course not, not yet at least," Eamond said, grinning. "Right now they're on high alert, so we need to stay low just for a while."
"Okay, so what are we going to do now?"
"Simply expand our preserve business. When the kids were knocking down the guards, did they loot some of their money?" Eamond asked.
Lysandra rolled her eyes and tossed him a small pouch of copper coins. "Obviously."
Eamond pulled out a heavier sack from his coat—gold coins glinting in the dim light. "Emergency fund. Don't let the toddlers near it. And don't let it circulate, or the Crimson Fang will come knocking."
Jake piped up: "It's 10 Krum today." His eyes shone—he'd remembered.
Eamond ruffled his hair, then immediately regretted it. Weakness.
Karma Adjustment: +1 (Involuntary Kindness)
Warning: Empathy detected. Countermeasures advised.
He crushed the warmth in his chest. "Nine days until the transport. We'll need supplies, information, and a way to move unnoticed."
Lysandra crossed her arms. "And how do you plan to get all that?"
Eamond's smile was razor-thin. "By doing what we do best—exploiting the desperate."
New Quest: [Steal the Kingdom Chest – Reward: 50 Gold + ???]
Karma Adjustment: -5 (Grand Theft, Arson, General Villainy)
As Lysandra and Jake left. Eamond stared at the ten gold coins glowing in his palm—stolen, bloodstained, and utterly intoxicating. Moonlight streamed through the cracked window, turning the coins into liquid fire. Lysandra and Jake had long since left, but the orphanage still hummed with the echoes of their celebration: distant giggles, the creak of floorboards, Pip's sleepy murmur of "Goldie…"
Weakness.
He crushed the coins in his fist until the edges bit into his palm. Pathetic. Sentiment had nearly ruined him tonight—letting that sticky runt climb into his lap, tolerating the nickname, the blanket.
Karma Adjustment: -1 (Self-Awareness Detected)
Reminder: Empathy is a tax on profit. Settle debts promptly.
Eamond's lips curled. Debts. The word tasted like salvation. He spread the coins across the windowsill, their surfaces catching the light like tiny suns.
"System," he whispered. "Unlock my magic."
For a heartbeat, nothing. Then—
[Money Magic] Unlocked!
Current Tier: Novice Capitalist
Activation Cost: 10 Gold
Warning: Funds are non-refundable.
The coins melted, gold pooling like mercury before spiraling into his veins. Eamond gasped as power surged through him—cold, precise, and utterly transactional.
Vision: Prices floated above every object in the room.
Orphanage ledger: 2 copper (sentimental value reduces resale price)
Lysandra's burnt spoon: 0.5 copper (hazardous material surcharge)
Pip's jam-stained doll: ERROR (priceless to current owner)
Eamond staggered, bracing himself against the wall. The world had become a ledger.
Ability Unlocked: [Appraisal] See the true value of all things—including people.
He goes to see the sleeping toward the sleeping orphans. Pip's tiny form glowed with a faint gold aura:
[Pip – Age 5]
Net Worth: -30 copper (malnutrition, debt inheritance)
Profit Potential: +200% if sold to…
Eamond shut his eyes. "Disable Appraisal."
The gold faded, leaving only moonlight and the sour taste of bile in his throat.
Power had a price.